


A Reaper Come Lately

by icarus_chained



Category: Original Work
Genre: Afterlife, Arguing, Death, F/M, Ghosts, Grim Reapers, Happy Ending, Love, Marriage, Morbid, Reunions, Romance, Waiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 09:19:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3441809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarus_chained/pseuds/icarus_chained
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old woman, freshly dead, finds a not-so-grim reaper with a familiar face come to take her home. Being who they are, they can't help but have an argument in the process. Oh, but it's good to have him again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Reaper Come Lately

**Author's Note:**

> A slightly morbid fill for a prompt, because I'm listening to Diana Krall and generally in an odd humour. The prompt was: any/any, (n.) a feeling of strong or constant affection for a person.

Well then, Alma thought, looking down at her body on the bed. That's that, then. That was that, sure enough.

It was a damned shame, though. If death had to come in a body's sleep, it could at least pick a night where she wasn't wearing her third best nightie. She was going to look dreadful when they found her. Her hair was a complete mess, and the faded yellow of her nightgown was going to look ghastly come daylight. Honestly. Death had no sense of timing.

"I always liked that nightie, actually," a wry, familiar voice came from the foot of her bed, and if she'd still been living, Alma thought her breath would have hitched in her chest. Maybe she still was, because something made a damn good effort anyway. She looked up, across the eiderdown into the nighttime shadows beyond the bedstead. He looked back at her placidly, a faint smile on spectral features, an expression as familiar to her as her own in the mirror. Her very own Reaper, she thought, and not a grim one at all.

"So it's you," she murmured softly, with a singing thing in her chest and a twitch in the corner of her mouth. She shook her head, felt herself drift down to smile at him. "Been waiting long then, Richard?"

"Oh, long enough," he agreed, reaching up to trace his hands along her arms. She shivered. Damned odd sensation. And yet, not half so strange as all that. "You always were tardy, my dear. Late for the dance, late for the wedding, late for the funeral. Never on time in life or in death, my Alma. Told them, I did. I said to 'em she'd be late."

She laughed, and shoved his chest lightly. He felt funny, her Richard. Not as solid as he used to be. Though she supposed that figured somewhat.

"Aye, well," she said. "No point hurrying when all the good things will wait for you, hmm? And here you are, aren't you? Waiting, just like always. No need for me to rush, when you can be trusted still for that."

He arched one bushy eyebrow, as coolly sceptical as ever he'd been. His old grin was tucked in the corner of his mouth. She'd missed that grin. She'd missed the mouth, too.

"Still no consideration for your fellow man, I see," he murmured, his eyes all bright and laughing down at her. "What if I'd gotten bored, hmm? What if I'd wandered off with some other spectral filly while I was waiting for you? What would you have done then?"

She put on a smile for him, the one with all the teeth, her canines pearly in the darkness, and came up onto her toes, her hands braced on his shoulders, the better to lean in and let him see it. His hands found her hips in the process, pale and ghostly and just as strong as she'd remembered, bearing her up easily. She dug her fingers into the cloth of his jacket, wondering vaguely how he'd gotten it, and lean in to hover her smile above his.

"I'm sure I'd have caught up with you eventually," she challenged, low and bright. "Tardy but indefatigable, didn't you say once? I'm sure I'd have found you again, my darling, and we'd have had our reckoning when it happened. All these years on, I'm not like to let you have the last word. I didn't when you died, I wouldn't have when we were both bloody dead, would I?"

She felt the rumble up through his chest, the low and booming joy of him, and her heart leapt into her throat when he caught her all the way up. When he boosted her into the air, those old hands about her hips, lifting her ghost of a nightie half-way up her thighs in doing it. Damnable man. Impossible, idiot, damnable man. He spun her around, and she clung to his shoulders in blind, stupid joy. Her Richard, come again. Her not-so-grim reaper to take her home. She slid down the length of his arms, and let him hold her close against his chest, let him scoop her one more time into his arms. He felt good, she thought. He felt like Heaven come to take her home, and even if it was Hell that was waiting, the Devil would have a time making her realise it, so long as Richard was still holding her when they got there.

"I saw that," he whispered, hugging her to him. "You rearranged the sideboard on me again. I wasn't two days buried, and you put it back the way you wanted it. Just to spite me. I saw that. Don't think I didn't."

"I wanted you to," she whispered back, her heart still all up in her throat, her arms tight around his neck. She thought they might have left the bedroom behind. She thought he'd carried her off, and left her body lying somewhere behind them. She didn't really give a damn. "I did it so you'd see. Just 'cause ... just because you were dead didn't mean I was finished with you. We had an argument still. I was winning. You didn't get to just die and count that finished."

"... No," he said, all soft and happy, all big and stupid and warm around her. "I suppose I didn't at that. Though I think it won't be that particular argument from now on. We're a bit short of sideboards in the afterlife."

"Not much of an afterlife, then," she opinioned, nosing happily under his jaw. "We ought to ... Huh. Are we still in the house, love? We could fix it now, if you like. Half for you and half for me. Just before we go. We could fix it up right."

"What an odd haunting that would be," he mused lightly, swaying her absently in his arms. "Two old ghosts, arguing over the crockery. What will our nephews think when they find it?"

Alma snorted. "Those two half-wits? They won't think anything. If they even notice it's rearranged I'll eat the china myself. No. Never mind that lot. The only one who might notice is Helen, but I doubt she'll mind it. Might even cheer her up, knowing you'd come back for me. She'll ... It'll hit her hard to have to find me. Might be no harm to leave something happier for her to figure out."

He went still for a minute, a pause in their odd drifting, holding all still and thoughtful for a second with her cradled in his arms. She looked up at him. At the familiar creases of his face, the lowering of his bushy eyebrows in that old absent frown of his, the little shining in his old brown eyes. Her chest expanded. It wasn't air, she thought. Ghosts didn't breathe air. She reckoned she was breathing love, and him too as well.

"... I'd like that," he said at last, looking down at her. He smiled. The soft one, their secret one, the one he used to press into her hair at night. Her hand moved to touch it before she'd thought about it. Her fingers traced the shape of it softly, and felt it widen beneath her. "Half for you, and half for me. Let Helen know someone came to get you, late as you always are. I think ... I think I'd like that, Alma. I think I'd like that a lot."

She cupped his cheek, that old, shiny love of hers filling all her chest. She nodded, her eyes bright with tears and her teeth biting at her lips. "I'd like that too," she said. "Once more, for old time's sake. Lets fight over the sideboard, you and I. What do you say?"

He leaned down. His lips felt all tingly over hers, breathing love soft and sweet between them. She'd missed his mouth, these last few years. She'd missed his mouth so much. It tasted sweet as all eternity now.

"I'll never be done arguing with you," he whispered, smiling when he pulled away from the kiss. "I'd wait for all eternity, just to have one more fight with you. You know that, don't you? You know that I ..."

Alma pressed her fingers against his lips. Shushing him, with shaking hands. She nodded around the singing thing inside her. She smiled at him, and she nodded.

"I know," she said. "I always knew. I knew you'd be waiting. I'm always late, because you'll always be waiting. I never doubted it once. I wanted to keep Helen company a while longer. I wanted to fix a few things up. But I knew you'd wait. I'd never have let you go ahead of me otherwise."

He breathed around her, just for a moment. He held her, so she could feel the shining thing inside him too. And then he nodded in his turn, and swung her down to stand beside him, ghostly and bewildered in their downstairs hall. The sitting room was the next door to her left. The sideboard was there and waiting.

"Alright then," he said, his arm warm around her waist. "One more argument, for Helen's sake. And then we'll go and be late together. I've been waiting long enough, Alma. It's about time I got to dawdle too."

She smiled, and patted his chest consolingly. "I'll teach you, Rich. Don't you worry. We'll be the best damn dawdlers the afterlife has ever seen. Just you wait and see."

He caught her hand before she lowered it. He held it, his eyes bright on hers. Heaven, she thought. Without a doubt. Here was Heaven, who'd kept on waiting for her. 

"Always and forever," he murmured. "My Alma. Always and forever."

And well, she thought. Well then. Maybe death didn't have such terrible timing after all.


End file.
